


I Leave to You

by wishingforawand



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingforawand/pseuds/wishingforawand
Summary: Leaving Korea wasn't quite death. In fact, it more resembled a return from the grave, but leaving those people was going to leave a hole in his life. Inspired by the episode, "Where There's a Will, There's a War."
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Peg Hunnicutt, Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce & Charles Emerson Winchester III, Father Francis Mulcahy & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Maxwell Klinger & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Mildred Potter/Sherman Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Charles Emerson Winchester III

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set after the end of the Korean Conflict, but it references the episode, "Where There's a Will, There's a War," from Season 10. Enjoy.

* * *

_Hello, my dear MASH 4077 comrade! This letter comes to you from your beloved Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce, and perhaps as a surprise. Yes, I am aware that we only parted ways eight months ago, but I honestly couldn't wait any longer. Maybe I waited too long already. Accompanying this letter is a package. Its contents are a gift from me to you. Now, I know, I know, it's not even close to Christmas, but all the same, the object in that box is something I want you to have. I trust you'll cherish it as much as I did._

* * *

The package was brought in with the rest of the Winchester mail by the butler. He set the stack of envelopes and the one square package on the desk in front of the doctor who looked up from his writing and thanked him before he left.

There was once a time when Charles Emerson Winchester III, by whom the butler had been employed for a long time, would not have deemed a verbal thanks necessary. But he'd come back from Korea a changed man, and they both knew it.

Charles noted the large package straight off, but postponed his curiosity until he had sorted through the smaller parcels of mail. At last he reached for the box, puzzling over who might have sent it. He had received countless gifts from his parents over the years, but these days he was living back in Boston in a well-to-do neighborhood not far from theirs. Who then could have sent him this?

With the package in his hands, he glanced first at the sender's address. Crabapple Cove, Maine. And the sender's name right above it. B.F. Pierce.

A competing set of emotions arose in the normally stoic Winchester. In truth he'd have to admit that there was an overwhelming sense of connection. His second admittance would have to be that it was one which he had missed dearly these eight months.

Pierce had grown to be considered one of his closest friends. They had, after all, gone through hell together and managed to live through it. And it was to Hawkeye that he owed part of his survival.

The feeling of camaraderie shared by their Korea experience gave way to a sense of dread chasing closely at its heels. What on earth had Pierce sent him?

Charles was soon able to formulate an answer. Those devious pranksters he had for bunkmates were not to be trusted. No doubt this box contained a belonging (or several) of his which they had pilfered and thought only now to return.

With a knowing smirk, the M.D. tore into the package with animation. He would reclaim whatever property Pierce had been harboring and then go about concocting a suitable revenge.

Ripping the box open with quite undignified glee, he plunged his hands in to rediscover what was his. They emerged with a letter and with an object he had seen thousands of times before. It was not his, but it was more familiar to him than half of the things he did own.

Setting the letter on the desk, he held up the gift in wonder. It was a reddish purple bathrobe, the same one that had stood out with such ludicrous clarity in the sea of olive green. It was Hawkeye's robe, his childish retreat from the world. But also, Charles had come to understand, the source of some comfort found whether in the act of defiance or the charade of normalcy.

Monetarily it had almost no worth, but it was a gift of immense proportions. It was priceless.

A stunned smile crept across Charles' face as he finished reading the accompanying letter. Carefully, almost reverently, he slipped the robe on around him over his business clothes. It didn't matter that he looked the picture of foolishness; somehow this robe had the power to make anyone look dignified.

Wearing the robe, he closed his eyes and the connection was back. He felt again the camaraderie and friendship, the _family_ , that he had discovered in the 4077th MASH. No matter the distance of space or time, their group bond would endure. Charles was reassured in this, knowing that the only people who could truly understand him these days were still close in spirit.

He had never loved that purple-red robe more.


	2. Father Mulcahy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Father gets a gift.

* * *

_The idea for these gifts is one that's been in my head for a while. These notes were even in writing long before I sent them. Remember those horrible moments we each had at least once in Korea when we thought for sure we were going to die? One of those experiences is bad enough, but you and I lived through years where that fear was moment by moment. Well, in one of those moments, I wrote my living will, and what you're reading now was a part of it._

* * *

His sister brought in the mail that morning, sorted it out and placed it on the table with their morning newspaper and breakfast. After saying grace, Francis Mulcahy flipped through the small stack. Most of it was unimportant. There was still no word from the diocese about what position might be available for a partially deaf priest.

But the Father's mood was brightened by one personal letter postmarked Maine. He shared a joyful look with his sister and spent a moment simply gazing at the envelope. He sent up a prayer of thanks for such refreshing news.

Holding up the letter, he felt something slide around inside it. Intrigued and more than a little excited, Father Mulcahy tore open the envelope, extracting a folded paper and a single nickel.

Puzzled by this strange offering, he quickly unfolded the letter, scanning it for an explanation. What he found within brought joyous laughter to his lips.

It had been so long since the General incident where he was informed that he wasn't worth so much as a nickel. It had been so long since their MASH family had laid eyes on each other. To have Hawkeye send this now, in a time when he was struggling desperately to remember his worth, was a Godsend. It was a blessing that he was grateful for.

Perhaps his efforts during the war had made a difference. And perhaps he had purpose yet. A deaf priest wasn't outside the realm of God's use, and Hawkeye's thoughtful gift had reminded him of it.

Father Mulcahy turned the five cent piece over and over in his hand, mesmerized by what it represented. The flock that he had so patiently tended these last hard years had not forgotten him. They knew what he'd managed to forget, that he was worth far more than a nickel.

He was going to frame this coin. While it was no good luck charm, it could serve to remind him what he was holding on for. The fight against his disability would be a long, difficult match, but there was value to it.

The Father found himself laughing again as he tried to explain to his sister the nickel, its story, and the hope it had restored to him.


	3. Colonel Potter

* * *

_Now don't worry. I have no intentions of requiring said will anytime soon. You've not seen the last of me. In fact, I have plans to see you and everyone else on the year's anniversary of our return to civilian-hood. That reunion when we're all together again in a world not colored in olive green and where no one's lobbing bombs at us is one of my fondest daydreams. If we meet around a table we're not operating on and that serves better food than the mess tent, that'll be more than fine with me. I can't wait to see you._

* * *

The retired colonel sipped his coffee as he sorted his mail. This sure wasn't a mess tent brew. After decades of army coffee, he wasn't even sure this draught would keep him awake.

But his army days were finally behind him, and other than the coffee, there were few things he missed. Potter delighted in the image of his wife making them breakfast. He was finally spending his days with the woman he'd loved for decades, and he was finding himself grateful for the smallest of things.

This morning routine was one of his favorites. It had taken them little time to join their separate habits. Mildred fixed them breakfast while he went out to get the mail. They'd eat their meal and work together on KP duty to get the dishes done. With another swig of weak coffee, Sherman decided he would have to take over fixing it each morning. When he was through, it would be army grade with a more swallowable flavor. It'd be strong enough to curl Mildred's hair for her.

The Colonel flipped through a large stack of mail, setting the bills off to the side and the personal letters in front of his plate. There was a letter from his daughter with a few adorable pictures of his grandkids and an invitation to her house next weekend. And there was an unexpected package.

Potter lifted the small parcel from the pile. It creased in his hands, showing the bend of the object inside. Curious, he peered through his reading glasses at the sender's address. "Well, I'll be!" he exclaimed to his wife. "This is from Pierce!"

Mildred Potter looked up from stirring their eggs. "The one called Hawkeye?" she asked, eyeing the portrait he'd done of his senior staff which now hung proudly displayed on their wall.

"That's him," Potter confirmed, nodding to Pierce in the portrait. "He's the tall, smiling joker standing center." The locational qualifier was necessary, because the men to his left and right also fit that description.

He shook his head in surprise and wondered at the gift in his hands. What had Hawkeye sent him? And why?

Wiggling the package in his hands, he curved the object within. It felt like paper. A book? Potter snuck a peek at his wife and sincerely hoped it wasn't one of Pierce's usual trashy reads.

The former C.O. carefully opened the package, giving the contents a cautious peek before pulling out a worn book. Its cover was creased; its pages were well read; its title was _The Last of the Mohicans_. Potter fluttered the pages gently, staring in wonder at the gift.

If he thought about it, he could recall this very book as one of Hawkeye Pierce's most treasured possessions. In that military issued home they'd dubbed the Swamp, nothing was more precious than the homemade still and the belongings they'd brought from home.

The book was a special one for Pierce, and the letter he'd slipped inside it for his old colonel made the present clear. It was this book that had given him his name. It had come from the young man's beloved father, and now Hawkeye was passing it on as a tribute to another man who had become like a father to him.

Emotion threatened to overcome him. He cleared his throat nosily, drawing his wife's attention. Potter knew how close the boy and his father were. He knew the young doctor had nothing but admiration for the elder. He knew that it was one of his life's greatest honors to be so favorably compared.

Over his years of distinguished service, Sherman had received countless commendations and medals. Yet none of these were more valuable than the young people he'd "fathered" through their shared Korean nightmare. Their regard, their respect and love, were one of the greatest gains of his life.

"What is it, dear?" Mildred asked with concern over his change in mood.

Potter let out a deep breath and shook his head. "Just a memento from Hawkeye." He smiled. "A reminder that not everything over there was loss."


	4. Maxwell Klinger

* * *

_I wrote this letter the first time up at Battalion Aid. No time I spent up there was easy; they didn't even have the rotten conditions we at least enjoyed with consistency at the 4077th. I don't have to tell you that. As horrible as daily life was, we all experienced moments that were worse. Battalion Aid that night was one of mine. The ceiling was falling in, the bodies were streaming in, and the blood was pouring out. Well, you remember how it always was. I remember learning when I got back how you all thought I'd died. I remember that night being sure that I would. So I wrote to you._

* * *

Max Klinger smiled as he entered the kitchen and kissed his wife hello. His kitchen was also his living room, and his dining room was also his bedroom, but these two rooms were _his_ house. His and Soon Lee's. Max Klinger was a free man these days. The army couldn't tell him what to do, where to sleep, or how to do his job. Unfortunately, civilian life had ways of doing that, too.

His mood took a downward turn as he thumbed through the morning's mail. Bill, bill, another bill. There always seemed to be one more, pulling away from his carefully saved funds. This tiny house was a stepping stone to the one he hoped to share with Soon Lee someday. But when the bills started pouring in, that someday had a way of moving itself to the next life.

Shoving the most depressing letters to the side, Klinger's attention was caught by a floppy brown paper package at the bottom of the pile. It certainly didn't look like a bill. And, he consoled himself, at least it was too big to be a draft notice.

Klinger weighed the package carefully in both hands, examining it top to bottom. It was surprisingly light and flexible. Not another of his mother's salamis.

He tugged on the string holding it closed and belatedly looked at the sender's address. Surprise lit his big nosed features. B.F. Pierce! That could only be one person in the world, and that meant this would be the best mail he'd gotten all week. Whatever it was.

Scarcely able to contain himself, yet with a hint of long ago learned caution, Klinger tore into the package. He grinned broadly at the item he pulled out. "Soon Lee, look at this!"

It was an audaciously patterned Hawaiian shirt, vibrant and obnoxious. It looked out of place when compared with his utterly civilian tie. Yet it had looked even more conspicuous paired with army boots and a cowboy hat.

It was a visible breath of fresh air. The longer he looked at it, the happier it made him. Klinger let himself laugh at the ridiculousness of this gift, yet as he read the letter it came with, a fond smile came to his lips.

Hawkeye claimed he was repaying a favor, giving him the shirt off his back. This shirt was a special one for the doctor. It had been a coping mechanism, just like the tantalizing hope of a section eight had once been for him.

It looked like these days, both of those Korean survival skills were no longer needed. The clothes didn't make the man. Max Klinger was a free man. And so was Hawkeye Pierce.

The fond memories lingered in the smile on Klinger's face. No matter the bills, no matter the war, friends made life good.


	5. Margaret Houlihan

* * *

_The truth is, I've missed you. We've not been apart long, but not seeing you everyday is a noticeable absence in my life. Life in Korea was a nightmare that I couldn't wait to wake up from. Home was everything I longed for. And yet, it seems less complete without you in it. That missing you is part of the reason I'm reaching out now. There's so much I want to forget. But not you._

* * *

It was 7:30 in the morning by the time she made it back to her apartment. She'd just come off the night shift at the hospital where she worked, and Margaret Houlihan was exhausted. Her eyes were drooping as she blinked in the morning sunlight, but it was a fulfilled kind of exhaustion.

It was the exhaustion of a job well done, and a night like tonight confirmed that hers was a job that mattered. The life of a surgical nurse was demanding, even in the civilian arena, but she wouldn't trade it for the world.

With a satisfied yawn, she stopped at her mailbox on her way up. There were a few letters inside, and Margaret clutched them fondly. She'd always loved getting mail, and the thrill she'd developed for the institution in Korea had yet to fade.

Her hand in the small box bumped into a larger object within. Tiredly puzzled, Margaret pulled out a small brown package. She shook it lightly as she mounted the stairs and could hear only a faint shuffle from inside. Curiosity persisted even around exhaustion. She had always adored getting presents, and this looked to be a surprise of some sort.

Wondering if the sender would give any clue to the contents, she peeked at the return address. What she saw almost made her drop the box. Hawkeye! Her excitement stirred her from her walking slumber. Margaret couldn't imagine what this package could be, but the reminder of her MASH family and home was a welcome one.

She'd been a civilian for eight months, and in some ways, that khaki camp seemed like more of a home than her new apartment. She was regular army, and adjusting to a life where she wasn't a major was taking some time. Margaret couldn't explain why a gift from her decidedly unmilitary friend brought her such a sense of homecoming.

She supposed it was because of the lifetime they'd spent together. Then they'd been in her element. Now he was finally back in his. They'd written only the occasional letter since making it stateside, but perhaps their respective worlds could again find a way to work in tandem.

As she unlocked the door of her apartment, she juggled the small box and her other letters. It was not a large package, but that didn't mean she'd underestimate its contents. Knowing Pierce, there could very well be a rubber raft stuffed inside and waiting for its opportunity to invade her tiny living room.

Margaret carefully set the present down on her table, imagining how that scenario would play out. She'd undoubtedly scream, and even as she was plotting her revenge she'd be able to hear his characteristic wild laughter all the way from Maine. While the mail order prank she could live without, a smile did come to her lips when she pictured the sight and sound of Hawkeye's laughter. That alone would be a welcome present.

Carefully studying the package, Margaret decided to risk it. If Pierce really did want to start a cross country prank war, she'd be all too willing to retaliate. Though it might be hard to fill his shoes with oatmeal over such a distance.

Feeling both brave and curious, her desire for sleep long forgotten, the nurse tore into the box. Its contents spilled out into her hands: a letter and a mustachioed pair of glasses.

A puzzled look creased her features, but as she eagerly perused the note, her free hand rose to cover her mouth. These were Hawkeye's Groucho Marx glasses, one of his prized possessions. They were just as ridiculous as everything else he owned and wore, but they'd brought so much happiness - to patients, to staff, to her.

His letter went on to relive one particular evening together, and Margaret felt herself overcome with emotion. Hawkeye had such a talent for making people laugh. While she'd been unable to appreciate it during their early time together, she'd come to see it for the blessing that it was.

The camp was brighter, happier, more successful because of his levity. Even when he couldn't bring himself to feel happy, he'd given the genuine article to others. On that night in the supply tent he'd certainly given it to her.

Maybe it was because she was as tired now as she was then. Maybe it was because of the note and the memories it stirred up. Maybe it was because Hawkeye's gift had always been to make her laugh.

Whatever the reason, slightly trembling hands unfolded his glasses. She slipped the outrageous costume onto her face and felt her mouth widen into a foolish smile. Then the laughter started.

She'd never supposed that her true laugh could be regarded as attractive. In fact, her ex-husband had hinted at exactly the opposite. Yet, Margaret found herself alone in her small kitchen, laughing with uncontrollable abandon.

She'd forgotten just how good silliness felt, just as she had on many of those Korean days and nights. Forgetting that was a habit with her. But once again, Hawkeye Pierce and his goofy antics had gotten a laugh out of her. As every time, she felt lighter and freer than she'd been in a long while.

Even though she was alone, her shrill laughter filling the kitchen, Margaret could almost hear her friend's unmistakable laugh in the room with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter and gift to go!


	6. B.J. Hunnicutt

* * *

_No, I've got no plans to die anytime soon, but I won't lie to you. Even now that we're home, there are times when Korea doesn't seem so far away. I guess the fear we experienced has to linger. I know the pain does. Yet you're proof that the good sticks around, too. This life didn't end that night at Battalion Aid, and I fiercely hope that you'll be a part of everything that follows._

* * *

He'd flown from Boston to San Francisco with only a single layover in Chicago. He'd bused from San Francisco to Mill Valley with only one uncomfortable moment where he anticipated a flashback. Then he'd managed to hitch a ride with a fellow passenger to the small acreage outside of town with only one wrong turn. At last Hawkeye Pierce stood gazing upon his best friend's house.

He tossed a wave to the car's driver as it pulled off, then gathering his suitcase, he headed for the door. Hawkeye carefully balanced the box and folder he was carrying, mindful of what a spill now would cost him.

Though he and B.J. had seen each other a handful of times in the months since returning stateside, this was only his second trip to Beej's Californian home. The first visit had been following his flight from Tokyo, his first arrival in the states in years. Peg had been welcoming and caring, and between countless stories and their shared love for B.J., the two felt as though they'd been friends for years. Erin had been a toddling two year old, shy but not unfriendly. Regular letters and telephone calls had cemented them all the more firmly into each other's lives.

Hawkeye was glad to have returned to the Hunnicutt house. He sometimes wondered if he'd turn into his father, content to stay in the Cove and grow moss. Then he remembered his network of war friends spread across the country, and he knew he could never sit at home and wait for all the people he cared about to drop by. There were just too many with too long a journey.

Though Crabapple Cove, Maine, would forever be his forwarding address, there was a sense of homecoming here at this Californian house. It was a feeling completed when B.J.'s tall frame appeared in the door and a smile the size of the state lit up his face.

Neither man could maintain a casual walk as they approached each other. Hawkeye had the foresight to gently lower his presents atop his suitcase before being pulled into a bear hug. Handshakes and backslaps commenced as the duo was reunited again. Both grins were a mile wide, and laughter erupted from a deep well of memories and trust.

"You made it!"

"I'm here!"

"Boy, am I glad to see you, Hawk. How long has it been anyway? I'll tell you, we can't go so long between visits."

"And it's only been four months. It's good to see you, Beej."

B.J. picked up his friend's suitcase, and they made their way slowly to the door, still talking. "How have you been, Hawk?"

Hawkeye shrugged. B.J. stopped moving in wait for a real answer. With a smile at his concern, Hawkeye joined him. "I've been better. I was fitting myself for a straight jacket when you came out to see me, but it's passing. I took back my job at the clinic, I've laid off the hard stuff, and I'm starting to remember the good, too."

"That's great," B.J. agreed wholeheartedly. Transitioning back from the war had been difficult for all of them, but for none more than Hawkeye. Fresh failures near the end of the war had sent him home in a precarious mental state. Though grateful to be home, the memories of war nearly overpowered the reality of peace. He'd given up doctoring for a time and slumped into the shadow of alcoholism and depression. B.J. had listened to him deteriorate from the opposite coast and had finally flown to Maine in an effort to pull him out.

Thanks to his friend's actions, his father's care, and help from a crowd of MASH buddies in Missouri, he was making the transition. Hawkeye gazed at the man before him, grateful once again for such a true friend. "I might live through this," Hawkeye said. "Thanks to you."

The mustached man smiled humbly. "I'm really glad you're okay, Hawk."

They resumed walking. "That makes two of us." Hawkeye continued to take in the small house and lot. "I figured it was my turn to make the trip anyway."

B.J. nodded. "That is fair."

There was a flutter of movement at an upstairs window. "Besides, you didn't bring the family with you when you came to visit."

"You didn't come to see me at all!"

"Can you blame me?" Hawkeye replied with a smirk.

B.J. grinned at his former bunkmate. "Not at all. Erin's been looking forward to you coming all week. You're about to make her life."

"And that's before I tell her I brought presents! One for now, one for later."

"You had her at presents. Did you bring me anything?"

"A pair of my socks," Hawkeye quipped. "I remember how much you liked to steal them." At B.J.'s face, he cracked a smile and amended the statement. "You can share with Erin."

"Yippee."

The door opened again before they reached it, and Peg Hunnicutt flashed them a dazzling smile. "Hawkeye! I'm so glad you made it!" She and Hawkeye embraced, truly happy to meet again. "How was the trip?"

Hawkeye pulled out of the hug and answered. "Long. Turbulent. Miserable." A familiar smile spread across his face as he looked at B.J. and his wife. "But worth every second."

Peg laughed along with him. "Glad you think so. Come on in, Hawkeye."

They stepped into the house, B.J. still carrying his friend's luggage, and Hawkeye still clutching his box and envelope. "Shouldn't there be a small one around here somewhere?" He searched the room from the doorknobs down, seeing a few toys but no sign of B.J.'s daughter herself.

As if brought on by his words, tiny footfalls sounded from the back of the house. There was a muffled calling of his name which grew louder as the three year old drew into the room. "Uncle Hawkeye, Uncle Hawkeye!"

Peg and B.J. shared an amused look with their guest. "That'll be Erin."

"I certainly hope so."

The toddler finally appeared, and as she did so she became quiet. Her brown hair was pulled back in twin pigtails which twitched just above her ears. Big blue eyes studied the crowd in her living room, instantly drawn to the man who was still a stranger to her. She lingered shyly at the edge of the room, coming in slowly at her father's beckoning gesture.

Hawkeye smiled at that. Erin had known her father for only eight months, but it was clear their relationship was finding its way. There was trust and love in her baby eyes when she looked at her daddy. At last B.J. could show her how much he'd always loved her.

Beej tugged Erin onto his lap at the sofa. Peg perched on the armrest beside them, and Hawkeye sunk down next to his friend, enchanted by the sight of this precious family all together.

"Hi, Erin," he greeted the child. Though a moment before, she'd been yelling his name, Erin was now shyly hiding in her father's shirt.

Peg laid a hand on B.J.'s shoulder. "She'll warm up to you in a few minutes."

Hawkeye nodded, understanding the peculiarities of childhood affection. "Maybe this will help," he said, raising his box from the floor. Erin looked on with wide eyes, curiosity peeking through timidness. "This is for you, Erin."

B.J. helped take the package for the girl, and together they opened it. The child smiled widely when she pulled out the teddy bear. The plush animal was cherry red, and upon seeing it, Hawkeye had immediately wanted it for the little girl he was coming to love. The toy was clutched tightly in her arms, and Hawkeye's heart warmed to see her claim it as her own.

"What do you tell Uncle Hawkeye?" her mother prompted.

Squeezing the teddy, Erin lisped out a thank-you. Thoroughly pleased with the reception of his first gift, Hawkeye carefully balanced the remaining envelope in both hands. "You're welcome, Erin. That's only present number one. This," he said, presenting the gift with a flourish, "is present number two. That teddy bear will be the favorite for a while, but I think you'll like this more one day."

Preoccupied by the now favorite bear, the three year old didn't clamor for the new present. "Here, Beej, Peg, this is sort of for you, too."

B.J. took the proffered envelope, grinning. "Why, is this a college fund?"

"No, this actually started out as something for you. Back in Korea."

Maneuvering the envelope around the child in his lap, B.J. opened the flap. "Can't be your socks; the smell would have knocked me out." He carefully dumped the contents into his free hand. A stack of bound papers fluttered out, and B.J. peered curiously at them. Hawkeye watched his friend's eyes as he flipped through the pages, and he saw them spark with recognition. After another few moments of reading, B.J.'s puzzled grin turned to Hawkeye. "What is this?"

"It's the kids you saved. The civilians, too; I wrote down every name in our records."

B.J.'s expression was bemused. "I recognize the names. This is everyone I treated in Korea?"

"In alphabetical order, too."

"Why?"

Hawkeye was a moment in answering. He shifted in his seat and let his attention be drawn by the little girl grasping for the papers she couldn't yet understand. "It's for Erin. For now she'll hold onto that bear, but this list is for later when she starts asking questions. When she wonders why you couldn't be there for her first birthday or Christmas. Or even her second. When she wonders about her daddy and why he had to leave when she was so small.

"This is so that she'll understand someday. She can look at these names of all the kids who wouldn't be here without her dad, and she can understand. And be proud."

B.J. swiped a long finger across his glistening eyes then dropped a kiss on Erin's downy head. When he looked up, Hawkeye could tell the tears were still threatening by the way his mustache quivered. "Hawk, this is … Thank you."

Peg was perusing the letter that had accompanied the list. She, too, was affected by the gift, and she squeezed B.J.'s shoulder tightly. One particular line caught her attention, and she looked to Hawkeye with surprise. "This was part of your will?"

B.J.'s eyes rocketed from his wife to his friend. "What?"

The doctor from Maine waved off his concern. "Originally, yeah. I wrote that up at Battalion Aid. I left something for everybody, but I couldn't think of anything to give you. There was nothing that was … enough."

He smiled wide when he looked at the little girl in her daddy's embrace contentedly chewing on her fingers. "But then I thought of Erin. And I knew what I could do for you both."

B.J. was still blinking. "It's perfect, Hawk. Erin's too young yet, but I never could think of a good way to explain it all to her. You know that. I must have kept you up a hundred nights worrying about it. I still hate that I missed all that time, but this … with this she might someday understand."

Peg hugged her husband's shoulders. "She will, B.J."

Erin reached for her mother, and B.J. rose and lifted the child and bear effortlessly into Peg's arms. Hawkeye pushed himself off the sofa, and B.J. caught him in a second bear hug. "Thank you," he said again, still choked up.

"Better than my socks?"

"Best present I've ever gotten." B.J. again flipped through the precious papers. "And I didn't get you anything," he joked.

Hawkeye shook his head. "You did." He, too, looked down at the papers full of names. "My name's on that list, too."

B.J. looked confused. "I don't remember performing surgery on you."

"Maybe not," Hawkeye conceded, "But you saved my life. In Korea and back home, too. I wouldn't have made it without you."

The two men shared a smile, one that spoke for them. They'd each made it out because of the other. And it looked like a bright future when you faced it with a friend.

* * *

_This was meant originally as a final acknowledgement of all you've done for me. All you've meant to me. However, I think a living thank-you brings even more satisfaction. You saved me. When I was discouraged and deprived, when I was deranged, you were there, ready to pull me out. Or at least willing to stand in the pit with me. Thank you. Thank you for everything._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with this story! Please tell me what you think in a review!


End file.
